


Take Two

by Chierei



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Glory Hole, Illustrated, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: Oswald couldn’t believe he was doing this, that he had even entertained the option. But when the rumors had circulated, in hushed words or bawdy drunken talks among his men, his interest had been...piqued.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 30
Kudos: 136





	Take Two

Oswald couldn’t believe he was doing this, that he had even entertained the option. But when the rumors had circulated, in hushed words or bawdy drunken talks among his men, his interest had been...piqued.

It was only a few short months after reunification, and while the bridges were under construction, they wouldn’t be fully operational for another year. The ferries were running full time, but even then, it would have been an effort to move between Gotham and the mainland, meaning Oswald preferred to simply stay in the city most days.

He longed for the comfort of the Van Dahl mansion, miraculously untouched during the year of isolation. Olga has been set to putting it back into shape, and Oswald allowed himself a week of rest before returning to the city itself.

Over the year, he had taken the opportunity to...acquire several deeds to properties around Gotham. And the deeds were one of the few things not loaded into the submarine simply due to space, which was a boon in the end. He had taken over a handsome brownstone, not as luxurious as the manor, but discreet and central within the Diamond District, where he was looking to re-open his Iceberg Lounge. It would be a while yet—all construction efforts were focused on the bridges—but within a few years, he’d have the most sought after club once again.

Oswald had never been a victim of his sexual desires. He had slept with a handful of men over the years—most of whom fell into one of two categories: either older men who liked someone small and submissive or handsome honeypots who thought that a good fucking would make him betray Ms. Mooney. But even these encounters were uncommon and became only more rare in recent years. He had allowed a small number of men into his bed in the months before his mother’s death— _before Ed_ —and that number dwindled to almost non-existent after that fateful day at the pier. The few encounters he had allowed himself had been quick, with men who were all shamefully tall and lanky with crisp dark hair and brilliant smiles.

But his ordinarily dormant sex drive was rearing its head again, primarily due to the newly rekindled friendship that he and Ed had been slowly navigating their way around. The months working in close proximity, seeing each other day in and day out while they worked on the submarine followed by the weeks after reunification, with Ed hovering so close as he helped Oswald adjust to his diminished eyesight had been...trying.

Oswald knew that Ed was staying nearby out of guilt, but Oswald was desperate enough for whatever the man would give him to take it without any complaints even if it made his heart hammer in his chest, made his palms sweaty, and made him ache with want. He hated how much he was still so desperately in love with the man—how even after all the betrayals and how Ed had made it crystal clear that he would never love Oswald...Oswald was still his.

And Oswald ached. Every time Ed was around, every stray brush, or how the man would place one hand on his elbow to guide him—it all made his skin sing. Oswald couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have Ed up against him, have his lips press against Oswald’s neck or the long line of muscle press Oswald against the wall or against the bed or…

It was embarrassing. Oswald hadn’t had allowed him to entertain such thoughts since those first days, early into their partnership as Mayor and Chief of Staff, hadn’t allowed himself thoughts of Ed pressing him into soft sheets or stripping him down or—

But their newly rekindled friendship, coupled with Ed’s sudden need— _out of guilt_ —to be always _touching_ Oswald, meant that he needed to find some new release for this frustration. But it felt wrong, now, to bring some man into his bed who reminded him of Ed—someone tall and handsome with dark hair and sharp cheekbones. It was fine when they were apart, estranged, but now it felt too intimate, too telling, too risky because it was too close to the truth.

So when he heard rumors—more than rumors, truly, more like the common locker room talk that happened when his men thought he couldn’t hear—about the back rooms at _Wicked_. It had been one of the first, or so he heard, buildings in the area to have regained full-power from the mainland, a fact that wasn’t shocking. Sex, for the majority of the population, was still heralded as a priority.

It was the reason that Oswald found himself dressed down in a pair of gray slacks and an oversized sweater, the hood pulled up to give him what little modicum of anonymity he could have. He had left his cane behind, his baggier than regular pants hiding his brace. He didn’t even garner a look for the bored clerk—a woman with a shock of bright pink hair who looked bored as she flipped through a magazine—as he hobbled as gracefully as he could to the back rooms that were shrouded behind a thick curtain.

The lights were dimmed in the short hallway with less than a dozen doorways lined the walls. The faint sounds of moaning could be heard from a few booths, coupled with the wet slap of flesh against flesh that was soft and tinny. Of the twelve doors, three showed to be occupied, the dim crimson lights overhead indicating their status.

Oswald couldn’t believe he was doing this. He chose one of the booths that was sandwiched by two vacant stalls, opening the door with a shaky hand and locking it behind him.

It was cleaner than he had pictured, almost classy if he could use that term to describe a video arcade booth in the back of a Gotham sex shop. The walls were black, and the flooring, while aged, smelled faintly of disinfectant. The video booth itself was a hideous aged thing, taking up the entire far wall in its bright red glory with a large pump top of lube set atop it along with a box of tissues and a small bowl of condoms. There was a low stool in front of it, too low to be used for actually viewing whatever torrid film was offered, but perfect height to put someone eye level with the oval cut-out in the wall—large enough for a man’s fist to fit through with the edges rounded with tape.

Oswald blushed as he slipped a few bills into the machine, waiting as some meaningless film started to play. He dropped himself down onto the stool as the film started. He had never been one to watch pornography—only catching glimpses of it over the years, usually in conjunction with whatever work he had to do for Ms. Mooney or Don Maroni.

But he couldn’t deny the stirring in his groin as the sounds filtered through the cheap speakers—high-pitched and reedy moans followed but embarrassingly cheesy dirty talk that still made warmth pool in the pit of his stomach.

He didn’t know how long he had waited when he finally heard the sound of one of the doors nearby open and close with a creak. He had almost left half-a-dozen times by then, but he was no coward, and if this was what he needed to do to banish his ache for Ed, then he would do it. And he couldn’t deny to himself that there was a certain eroticism to it all—the anonymity of sex that he hadn’t the privilege of having in years. There were no expectations here, no need to pretend to want anything that he didn’t want, because no one would ever know.

Oswald could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest, and he forced himself to breathe, slow. He could see movement in the small opening, not enough to make out any distinguishing features, but enough to know that there was, indeed, someone over there. He heard shuffling and then the unmistakable sound of their own video booth playing something equally as cheesy and raunchy as what was playing in his.

With a shaking hand, Oswald reached his fingers through the opening, beckoning the stranger with a crook of his finger. He could hear the other man’s breathing hitch, and he withdrew.

There was a long moment of silence, and Oswald wondered if he could run away now, wondered if the embarrassment would overtake him, because who _did_ this? But before he could, there was the sound of a zipper and a half-hard cock was pressed through the opening.

Oswald’s mouth went dry at the sight, and his own cock twitching in interest. It was a handsome cock, long and of average girth, and circumcised. He spied a thatch of dark hair pressed against the opening and sight of smooth testicles hanging underneath.

Oswald reached out to wrap a hand around the cock, just below the juncture of the head, and the low moan from the other side of the wall gave him courage. He pumped it gently, leaning close enough to smell the unmistakable musk of a man and the faintest hint of soap. It was a heavy weight in his hands as he stroked the stranger, up and down, using both of his hands and occasionally twisting his wrist under the head in a move that made the stranger groan a little louder.

He thumbed at the slit, one hand slipping further down to toy with the man’s testicles, enjoying the weight he felt as he rolled them between his fingers. The man had long-since gotten hard, pre-come spilling down to provide a small amount of lubrication as Oswald explored.

Oswald withdrew one hand to cover it with lubricant, still pumping the stranger with his other. When he ran the one lubed palm down the man’s cock—the wet slide obscene sounding, even more so with the continuing backdrop of the pornography coming from both video booths—the man cursed, voice low and muffled between the partition.

He bit his lip, wondering how it would taste on his tongue, the salty-sweet taste of a man that he hadn’t had in a long time. Before caution could stop him, he ducked his head down to lick the head, tonguing at the slit.

Oswald fished for a condom, opening it hastily with his teeth as he wiped one hand clean of lubricant with a tissue. He set the condom between his lips, the elastic band holding his mouth open, an old trick he had learned in his youth that had always been a favorite with his partners. He steadied the cock with one hand as he pressed the condom onto the tip, ignoring the whine he got in return and then the heavy groan as he rolled it down the hard length with his lips.

He held his head down when he reached the base, enjoying the moment of constricted air, before pulling away, lathing his tongue up the latex followed by his hand. He didn’t stop when he had the head resting on the flat of his tongue, merely taking a gulp of breath before pressing down again.

Minutes passed, and the sound of rapid, wet slapping coming from the machine mixed with the heavy pants and occasional moan from the stranger on the other end. Oswald closed his eyes, one hand braced against the thin wall as he palmed himself through his pants. He tried not to—tried not to succumb to his own weakness, but he couldn’t help himself. He imagined it was Ed in his mouth, Ed standing before him, and Ed who was making all these noises of pleasure.

He imagined Ed looking down at him, eyes shining in admiration or disgust—he didn’t know which was better and which was worse. Half of him wanted Ed to murmur praises, tell him how good he was doing or how good Oswald was to him, how perfect and amazing and beautiful.

And the other half of him didn’t know if he could handle that—Ed being sweet and kind and understanding as he had once been.

Maybe he needed Ed to be rough. When the stranger made a particularly hard thrust down Oswald’s throat, he didn’t suppress the moan. Yes, Ed would be rough. He’d pull at Oswald’s hair, hold his head still as he fucked himself down Oswald’s throat. He’d hold him there, make Oswald choke on him. He’d tell Oswald that he was a slut—a dirty slut who would fall to his knees for Ed in a heartbeat and would beg for Ed to use him.

His mouth ached. He could feel a trail of saliva dripping down the side of his mouth, and he knew he probably looked debauched, ruined, and the thought only made him harder.

He hastily pulled himself out of his pants, messily stroking himself in time with how he bobbed his head up and down. He gave his wrist a twist, just how he liked it, and had to pull back long enough to moan, loudly. He pressed his forehead against the wall, taking a slow breath as he circled the base of his cock to keep himself from coming too soon.

“Fuck,” he heard from the other side of the wall, and the voice was a low growl that sent tremors straight to Oswald’s cock.

Oswald could pretend it was Ed. It was just low enough, just the right edge of roughness that could resemble almost anyone’s voice. He could pretend that this long, lean cock belonged to the man he was in love with, could pretend that he could touch and taste and lick it to his heart’s content.

He took a steadying breath, imagined Ed spread before him again, and opened his mouth.

He licked at the tip, circling his tongue around the head, before dipping back down to take the man halfway. When his partner tried to thrust deeper, Oswald pulled back, scraping his teeth along the underside.

“Shit,” the stranger said, followed by a thump.

Oswald wondered if he had punched the wall or slammed his head against it, and he smirked. He trailed his tongue down the underside of the man’s cock, tracing the protruding veins as he pumped with his hand. He nipped at the base of the cock, another gentle scrape of teeth, and was rewarded by a jerk of his partner’s hips and another curse.

He kept his touches light now, teasing the man with his fingers and tongue. He gave him just enough to keep him hard but never enough to feel any real satisfaction, and every time he pulled away, he relished the sound of panting, moaning, cursing.

It reminded him of why he had enjoyed doing this—enjoyed kneeling and sucking a man’s cock when most found it demeaning. It was, sometimes, and Oswald enjoyed it even then. But other times, like this, there was nothing more heady and powerful than knowing that he had a man at his mercy—could make even the biggest, strongest, smartest man bend to his will with nothing more than his mouth.

“Please,” he finally heard, ragged and breathless and _yes_.

Oswald took pity on the man, swallowing him down in one movement, pressing his nose into his groin. He hummed as best he could, and he could hear his partner curse again, low and angry and begging. When Oswald didn’t move, his partner took the hint.

Oswald closed his eyes as the stranger fucked his face, stroking himself in fast and messy movements with no finesse.

Ed, Ed, Ed, Ed, Ed-ed-ed-ed-ed-ed-ed.

“Fuck, Oswald!”

Oswald came with a groan, sloppily sucking at the man’s softening cock as he filled the condom. He pulled back to take a breath, bracing himself against the wall as he stroked himself through his own orgasm. It was only after, when his heart rate was slowing and he could feel the disgusting, almost ashamed, feeling start to crawl into his chest that he realized what he had heard.

His partner had withdrawn, but Oswald could see movement through the small hole. He saw a flash of green, and his heart stopped, and the word was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Ed?”

Silence. Then very, very quietly: “Oswald?”

Oswald heard scrambling, the sound of a zipper being hastily done up, and he forced himself to his feet as fast as possible even as he tucked himself back into his trousers, unmindful of the mess. He had barely managed to open the door in time, see the flash of a dark green suit—much more subtle than his standard variety—and pull Ed inside his own chamber before he could protest.

Oswald slammed the door shut, bodily putting himself between Ed and the only exit.

“Oswald!” Ed said, looking even more frazzled than when Oswald had seen him pulled from a literal dumpster. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Ed.”

“I mean, I was, uh, meeting someone. An informant. A clandestine informant, and would you look at the time, I really need to g—”

“ED.”

Ed’s mouth snapped shut.

Oswald huffed. “And I suppose you let all your informants suck your cock?”

Ed sputtered. “No! I mean, yes. No!” He gesticulated widely, head shaking back and forth as he spoke.

Oswald stopped listening, because he _knew_ what he heard. He was reminded of all of the touching, like a hand on his elbow or brushing his hair out of his face or how sometimes Oswald would swear Ed was looking at his lips or giving him a look that seemed so far from platonic that had they had a different history, he would have kissed him there.

Ed’s voice trailed off, finally noticing that Oswald had been moving closer until he was backed into the corner. Oswald usually hated having to look up to someone, but with Ed, especially now, it was just a reminder that he was probably strong enough to hold Oswald up against the wall as he fucked him.

“Oswald?”

Oswald’s lips quirked up in a smirk, and he leaned in. “I heard you, Ed,” he said, voice low and enjoying the way it made Ed crane a little closer to hear. “I heard you call my name. Were you thinking of me?”

Ed swallowed.

Oswald leaned up onto his toes, not quite being able to reach his ear, but enough to close the gap between them a little more. “Were you thinking about how I would look on my knees? How I would look with your cock in my mouth?”

Ed’s pupils were blown wide, dark, and his mouth hung slightly open.

“Because I was thinking about you,” Oswald said, trying to ignore the almost deafening beat of his own heart at the admission. “I was thinking about how you keep touching me and how I needed someone to fuck my mouth just so I could imagine it was you.”

“Oswald,” Ed said, a half-whimper.

“So,” Oswald continued. “You have two choices. One, you can walk out that door, and we’ll pretend this never happens. You can go back to getting your dick sucked by strangers that you pretend is me, and I’ll go back to sucking off strangers that I pretend is you. Or option two.” Oswald licked his lips, slow, and watched as Ed’s eyes honed in on his lips. “You can put twenty more dollars in that machine, and we'll see how hard you can fuck me without a wall between us. You choose.”

Oswald backed up, giving Ed enough room to push past him and leave if he so wished. He raised an eyebrow, a challenge.

Ed slowly closed his mouth and pulled out his wallet.

Oswald grinned. “Excellent choice.”

  
_Art by[yanderebeats.](https://twitter.com/tropotropotropo)_

**Author's Note:**

> I come bearing the gift of filthy smut. This was written for [yandere beats](https://twitter.com/tropotropotropo) who requested glory hole, so we decided to go S5-era. I hope everyone enjoyed. ;)
> 
> Please take a moment to leave me a comment telling me what you thought! <3 Comments and kudos bring me much joy and inspiration!


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